


Bat Mitzvah

by GalaxyMuse



Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 19:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17452781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyMuse/pseuds/GalaxyMuse
Summary: A small sequel to my anthology fic The Blessed, where we follow Cassiopeia Chana after Shura's descent into full commitment to Athena, and what she chooses to do with her own cloth.





	Bat Mitzvah

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: In no way do I claim to be knowledgeable on the Israel/Palestine conflict and its deeply historic and complex issues. This was a small story idea I had come up with for my character, and in terms of accuracy to the actual conflict and those involved, I ask that you take this fic with a grain of salt. More research is perhaps required to fully grasp the complexity of this conflict and how it affects the lives of Israelis, but I wanted to preserve this as the story of an immature quest for revenge and the consequences a young girl doesn't realize come from it, before tumblr might go down for good.

I’m twelve years old. I am a woman now.

I read the scroll, and a pendant lies upon my neck. Adonai knows it now. An armor of God-like silver shields me from the world and its dangers. I earned it for my efforts of body and mind. The mask I wear proves my commitment. Athena knows it now, too.

I’m twelve years old and one month. I am a woman now.

This is my chance to act. If my choices are now my own, then I know precisely what I’ll be setting out to do. I can fight back now, settle the score.

He’s twelve too, and he made his own choice (even if it was stupid). Why can’t I do the same?

At sundown I flee, sneaking past the guards in Athens. I might die if I’m caught, but I know I’d die by choice. My choice.

I’m twelve years old and two months. I am a woman now.

The journey is long, and with what little money I could find I managed to get by. But I’ll be damned if I’m not hungry most of the time! For that matter, I’m probably smelly too.

I follow the stars which lead me Southeast. On a boat I rock, hoping not to be seen by the crew. I find it hard to hide behind the equipment, especially with my giant box. But, I find a way. If only it were so easy to hide my seasickness. The warm breeze of the ocean fades, and in its place are the desert winds I had almost forgotten.

I’m twelve years old and three months. I am a woman now.

Has it really been three years?! I couldn’t believe it! At long last, Israel!

Finding my way back to Eilat, I find my old friends and family. They remember me, and I’m so relieved! It’s hard to explain the giant box in my back. I said it was a souvenir, and not to touch it!! Even now I sometimes find it hard to handle its power. But I keep that to myself.

I’m twelve years old and four months. I am a woman now.

I stay in my uncle’s house by the gulf. I eat food I missed for so long, though I don’t tell them that I had my fair share of bacon during training. I tell him my age, then, I begin to ask questions. I am old enough not to be ignored. But first, he takes me to see mom and dad.

I place pebbles on their headstones. Tears don’t fall from my face. I only want answers. My uncle then tells me why I was taken away so many years ago.

There are some like my parents, that believe the Holy Land could be shared with our neighbors all around us. Even if they called Adonai Allah. My mother believed this more than anyone, having come from Palestine.

Then there are those that believe that Israel is for us only. Any and all that oppose them wind up dead. Rumor spread on the wind about my power, my then latent cosmos. That was when they pulled me from school, kept me at home. I had, somehow, become a poster child of evil. One should never read omens, and I was a girl who could dream of them. Surely this was a sign that those who sympathized with Muslims had strayed from the will of G-d. Finally, between having them take my life for theirs, my parents chose the latter. However, not before leaving me with Master, who found me through a scout.

He tells me their killers are still here, and that their threats have gotten even worse. The Ezra name has been cleared, and I can easily change my name and stay safe. To get rid of that big box I brought. But I can’t. I made a promise to Athena, to use my strength to stop all evil. What happened to my parents had to count. It was then my duty to stop them. And it would be a pleasure.

The cloth and I are on the same page. In my anger, in my willingness to dole out justice, it’s becoming stronger. At night, under the sheet where I keep it in the closet, I can see it glow. We talk silently to each other, preparing ourselves for the day when we can strike back.

I’m twelve years old, five months and three weeks. I am a woman now.

I now have a name: The Pact of the Holy Land. They’re the ones who killed them. Killed them over names, killed them over soil, killed them over a look in my eyes. But tonight, these eyes would see vengeance.

I put on the mask and see myself in the mirror. The solemn face of judgment looks back at me, hiding my fury. I quietly open the door to my room and creep past my cousin’s rooms. I kiss my uncle good night before I leave while he sleeps. In silence I thanked him for the shelter, and prayed his matzoh ball soup would taste better the next time I saw him again. It was truly nothing like Mom’s.

Sneaking past the front guards is easy enough. They’d never expect a woman, and Master stressed the importance of stealth. Knocking them out, I continue inside. While stealth was important, it’s hard to achieve it when you basically have metal for clothes. But, somehow I manage. The cloth and I move together, our steps becoming more fervent as I grow closer to a group of voices. Seeing a lit room down the hallway, I peek my head to the doorway to see about a dozen or so men conversing at a table.

There they were, without a doubt. I recognize some of them, as they came into my house to speak to my parents. They were smiling and laughing, the guiltless murderers! My want for revenge doubles in strength, my blood boiling. Has it really been three years? From the anger I feel, it’s almost like it had been three minutes ago.

Simple death wasn’t enough anymore. I would make them suffer before they died.

Calling upon my cloth, I leap onto the ceiling quietly. I creep. I sit in a dark corner, and I wait. I allow them to finish the last nightly prayer they will ever make. Closing their books, I don’t give them the chance to disperse.

“Was it worth it?” I ask in the shadows. I laugh inside as they look frantically around for the source of my voice. Deftly a run to another corner, watching them grab their guns. I continue my interrogation.

“Did you feel righteous killing your brethren over dirt?!” Rage is clear my voice.

Do it! Do it! No, not yet. I almost begin my attack, but I pull myself back. Not yet. They need a little more fear.

One of them catches me near the corner of their eye and starts to shoot wildly. Like a domino effect they all begin to shoot as well. I dodge them all. This is the speed of a bullet?! It’s laughable next to Shura’s Excalibur. My cloth made stronger by my cosmos, I’m even faster than I was in the mountains.

I descend from the ceiling, falling upon one of them with a kick. I can hear his spine shatter like the boulders I crushed so many times. He falls down dead and I’m once again gone.

I hear the others scream and ask who’s there. Their eyes are wild with terror. They beg for mercy. Now, they’re ready.

“It’s me, don’t you remember? The one with the evil eyes?” I walked directly in front of them, my mask on.

"Tell me, did my parents beg?!” I ask them, “Did you listen?!”. My voice gets louder, trembles as I speak. My cosmos ignites and blazes through the room. Never have I felt this much fury.

I give them no chance to answer. I hear them scream one by one as I strike. I use my Gamma Whip to render their guns useless. I charge at them and revel in the sound of broken bones. I tear them limb from limb and punch holes in their bodies. They try to crawl away, but I have none of it, ripping their heads from their necks.

With the last blood-filled gargle came silence. All of them had fallen, even the ones that rushed in to investigate. With that, my mission is accomplished. I hold up my hands, with an arm in one and a head in the other.

As my adrenaline dies down I look around. When I entered the walls were white. They have now been dyed red. I smell death, caused by my righteous hands.

I retch. Several times. Vomit spreads across the floor and dribbles off my chin. As the power of my cloth dies down, I realize the truth. I am now no better than they were.

As my cloth’s power dies down I look down at it. I broke the rules, having used the overwhelming power of the cloth for my own purposes. But I was right!! I had believed for so long that I was right!

I drop the chunks of corpse and run. Run as fast as I can away from the carnage I designed. Is this what my vengeance wanted? What would mom and dad say? I think of them as I lament what I’ve done.

I knew killing them wouldn’t bring them back, but I thought it would bring myself peace. It didn’t. If anything, I feel worse. They say an eye for an eye, but I still feel uneven. I stooped to the level of their killers, and I feel like I’ve lost who I am in the process.

I’m twelve and a half years old. I am a woman now.

I cried like a child as I ran through the night.


End file.
